Sheppard target
by Mission Reporter
Summary: Sheppard takes Ronon's place for a transgression that the Satedan unwittingly commits and pays a dire price when he becomes target practice for armed natives. Shep whump.
1. Beware of slugs

**Sheppard target**

**by Mission Reporter**

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_Rating:_ T (to play it safe) 

_Type: _General/Action&Adventure/Humor

_Spoilers: _Storm/Eye, Irresistible and Sateda

_Timeframe: _Some time after Sateda

_Synopsis: _Sheppard takes Ronon's place for a transgression that the Satedan unwittingly commits and pays a dire price when he becomes target practice for armed natives.

_Disclaimer: _Not mine, except for original characters and story line. No profit has been made of this, it's all just for fun.

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**Chapter 1: Beware of slugs**

**(Sheppard's POV)**

Do you know what's the worst part about target practice? When you're it, the target that is, and you know damn well that one slip up could cost you your life. Yeah, so that's me, one Lt Colonel John Sheppard, why don't you paint a big bullseye on my chest that just says '_Shoot me'_. How the hell did I get myself into this mess in the first place, you ask? Wouldn't you like to know. Well, as Rodney had not so politely reminded the Fuzzies in his typical McKay fashion, it wasn't Ronon's fault that he had accidentally stepped and squashed on the Fuzzies' sacred blue slug. And it sure damn well wasn't mine either. Did I just say 'Fuzzies' and 'sacred blue slug'? You betcha I did, and to tell you the truth, I wished I never encountered either one, nor visited P7N-583. It would have made life a whole heap simpler and saved me a heck of a lot of grief and pain in the process.

So, there we were, on P7N-583, and I had been furthest away taking point, when a blasted blue slug decided at that moment to come out from its little hidey-hole to get underfoot of one tall and heavy Satedan warrior. Now, if you ask me, it was a damn stupid thing for it to do, and I'm sure Ronon would have agreed with me there. Of course it was going to get squashed by our tall and friendly Satedan, for come on, do you know how far his eyes are from the ground? How do you expect him to spot a little tiny worm amongst all those blades of grass? And I haven't even mentioned about his weight—all those muscles and raw brute power, how could a slug to survive that? No wonder McKay calls him 'Conan' or the 'Caveman' behind his back. But I understand Ronon better than McKay does, because we're both soldiers, warriors, brother in arms so to speak, and sometimes it's better not to wear our hearts on our sleeve. See, I'm a very private sort of guy, the one who values not having his privacy invaded, and if Ronon chooses not to speak much, I'll respect him for it.

As far as I know, Ronon Dex wouldn't have seen that little blue slug through the blades of grass, and if even if he did, I don't think he would have given it a second thought. Who would have guessed that one small, ugly alien slug could cause so much trouble. But just as Ronon flattened it, there was a soft high pitched shriek followed by a sizzling sound, which was what brought our attention to it in the first place. By the time I had tracked back to look at what happened, there was only a small blue glutinous smear on the ground and some spread under Ronon's boot of course. The sight oddly reminded me of squashed blue Jello that McKay so often liked to leave behind at the mess hall table. However, that was when the other blue slugs started to erupt from the ground before us and that was when I said "Crap", not liking what I saw. Pretty soon there were literally hundreds, maybe thousands of squirmy blue slugs rising out from the field, lifting their wormy little bodies vertically up towards the sky. They almost looked like quivering blue blades of grass as they stretched out longer and higher than the grass itself, but a dozen times creepier.

At this stage, I took a careful glance at my team mates not knowing what to make of this. I saw distaste in Teyla's normally reserved features, horror and nausea in Rodney's, and curious amusement in Ronon's. As for me? I don't know what emotion I displayed then, perhaps wariness, for at that every moment, my spidey sense started to tingle like crazy and I knew that I wasn't going to like what was about to happen. I warned my team to stand still, to not make a move, for I did not want any of us accidentally squashing another one of these damn alien slugs again. It was always best play it safe rather than sorry in situations like this. I suppose it was a good thing that I did, otherwise it would have been my entire team out here with me now, instead of just me.

I have heard the saying that there are such things as small graces in life, although I have to admit, I couldn't see any grace to be in this predicament right now. The only good thing out of this, was the fact that the Fuzzies had agreed for me to take Ronon's place for his transgression, _not _that I had believed even for a second that Ronon did anything wrong, just to make that part clear. It could have easily been any one of us who stepped on that damn blue slug, the fact that it happened to be Ronon was just plain bad luck.

But back to what happened. I knew that trouble was abound as soon as the alien slugs started opening their tiny maws and emitting a strange high pitched keening sound. Hell, I didn't even know until then that the slugs had mouths, much less able to give out that creepy tune. The pitch got so bad that we even had to cover our ears in painful protest to what it was doing to our eardrums. If it went on for much longer, all of us would have probably passed out from alien sopranos gone haywire, but then that would result with us falling onto the grass and flattening more creepy blue slugs in the process, which was not a pleasant thought. Perhaps those little guys knew it for in the end it didn't come to that. Instead the slugs keening caused the entire ground before us to vibrate, like a mini earthquake, as if the very planet itself was resonating to their cries. This went on for approximately a minute or so, then the slugs lowered themselves back to the ground again and disappeared under the blades of grass, back towards their little wormy hidey-holes. When everything settled back to normal again, I heard McKay breathe a sigh of relief and said to Ronon, Teyla and me, "What the _hell _was all _that _about?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps a Disney sing-along?" I quipped, giving the scientist a wry look as I put my sunglasses back on and looked around us. I indicated to the rest of the team that we should get ourselves out of the field stat. Yet, I also told them to watch their step, I didn't want us accidentally flattening anymore creepy blue slugs. If one squashed slug was enough to get a bad reaction from all the other slugs, I didn't want a repeat performance. Besides their eerie cries still echoed painfully in my ears. We were lucky that we didn't experience any burst eardrums. At the corner of my eye, I saw Ronon being extra careful to obey my orders. An amused smile twinged the corner of my lips. It wasn't everyday you got to see the tall Satedan warrior taking careful tip-toe steps almost like an awkward ballerina, which was totally uncharacteristic of Ronon and not an image that I preferred to use on the big guy. While the former runner didn't show it, I sensed that he was fairly disturbed by the other slugs' reaction to him accidentally killing one of their own. A good reaction to have because admittedly, so was I.

When we finally made our way out of that field, that was when trouble decided to pay us another visit and rear its ugly head back at us. There are some days when you just don't get a break, and this was clearly one of them. We soon found ourselves surrounded by a horde of approximately fifty primitive folk armed to the teeth with a variety of medieval weapons all aimed at little ol' us. Yeah, it was a pretty big welcoming party if you ask me, all there just to greet team Sheppard. If the situation wasn't so grim, I would have been flattered. The strange mini earthquake that resulted from the slugs keening had obviously alerted these people to our presence in the field.

We soon learnt that they were called Fuzzies and the planet that we had coined P7N-583 was actually called Fuz (with a single 'z'). Our resident genius, Dr Rodney McKay, enlightened us to that fact when they showed us the law of their land, written on an old scroll that they obviously carried along with them. Hey, don't ask me why they carried such things, perhaps they did that often, that is, catch people trespassing in open fields where creepy singing slugs resided. I had to hand it to McKay though, when they first mentioned their people's name to us, self-preservation must have kicked in, for he somehow managed to tone down the bark of his laughter. Well, actually it was more like a nervous snort rather than a full blown laugh, for having angry natives pointing crossbows, arrows, spears and swords at you can take the humour out of the situation.

But I agreed with McKay when he whispered to me that it was an absurd name for these not-so friendly folk to have. What kind of people called themselves Fuzzies anyway? It sounded more like the name of a soda pop drink; in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there was actually a similar named drink back on Earth. Fuzzies also sounded like one of those cute furry teddy bears, the ones that kids liked a lot, or those Ewoks in Star Wars, or maybe even Furlongs, after all, hey, I've read some of SG1's mission reports, who wouldn't after discovering about the Stargate program? But these Fuzzies were nothing like any of the things that I mentioned. Gentle and fun were not in their nature, nor did they leave you with any warm fuzzy feelings. In fact, they were totally the opposite, with a mean sort of streak to boot. I knew, cos unfortunately I'd experienced some of their meanness first hand. It just goes to show that the name means nothing; just like how some people might find your joke hilarious, but say that same joke again in a foreign culture very different from your own, and it might very well get you killed.

Okay, so now we knew about the Fuzzies on P7N-583, also known as planet Fuz. And when you're surrounded by a large and unfriendly horde, all of them aiming nasty projectiles of some sort at you and your team, you know that even with your P90s you're going to be vastly outnumbered, and chances were, you and your team wouldn't make it out of there without sustaining a high casualty rate, some of them probably fatal. Besides, to open fire on these people without attempting to talk to them first would make us as cold blooded as Kolya and the Genii when they first attacked Atlantis during the Storm. I lost two good marines that day to the Genii's sneak attack, and it wasn't something that I would likely forget.

So, surrounded as we were, I ordered my team to lower their weapons. After all, Elizabeth had given us specific orders that this was meant to be a friendly meet and greet mission, to seek out new alliance or trade agreement. It's generally not our way for us to open fire on a populace just because they were pointing weapons at us, not unless they shot first, and at the moment, they were not shooting, just looking at us as if they wanted to rip us apart piece by little piece. Okay, granted, not a comforting thought, but our policy on first contact dictated that we still had to wait for them to make the first move. Sad to say, it wasn't long before we soon learned the true purpose of why they were there.

To cut a long story short, let's just say forming trade agreements or any sort of alliance were the furthest things from their minds. These folk were not willing to negotiate, listen or have any sort of friendly pow-wow. I almost wished then that I had given the order to shoot the bastards and for us to try to make a run for it back to the Stargate. How the heck were we to know that the field where the blue slugs lived were out of bounds to all, much less to off-worlders? Hell, if the horde didn't want anyone accidentally stepping on their precious blue slugs, they should have put up a gigantic warning sign, preferably in bright neon colours that said something like:"_Warning - Do NOT step in field where crazy blue slugs reside else serious punishment is warranted, possibly death."_ But there had been nothing, no warning, no sign, naddah, zip. So yeah, basically we were screwed, well maybe not we per se, but more accurately, me, one Lt. Colonel John Sheppard.

-xo0ox-

TBC


	2. Murder they wrote

**Sheppard target**

**by Mission Reporter**

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**Chapter 2: Murder they wrote**

**(Sheppard's POV)**

They wanted to know who had stepped on the damn slug and in their so called words 'murdered' it. Now murder is a pretty harsh word, it usually went with the assumption that it was planned. It spelt trouble with a capital "T". Like I said before, I knew then that we were screwed. But before Ronon could own up (and I could see that he was going to), I stepped forward, folded my arms casually together and gave the natives surrounding us my best charming smile. "I did," I replied, "but it was an accident not murder. By the way, I'm Lt Colonel John Sheppard, that's Ronon, Teyla and Rodney. We're visitors to your world and are keen to form alliances or trade with your people."

Yet, as soon as I admitted the blame, I instantly sensed the big guy with the dreadlocks bristle angrily at me. In fact Ronon even argued the point saying that it was him not me—that I had lied. This of course was not making us look good in front of our hosts; disagreement among our ranks and all that—over who had stepped on that freaking alien slug, no less. However, I pointedly ignored the Satedan except to take one annoyed, sideways glance at him without so much as turning my head. "_Ronon... shut up... _I'll handle this." I hissed the words in tight warning. It wasn't easy to do especially since I was trying to maintain an attitude of casual friendliness for our non-too friendly hosts. I turned my attention back towards our Fuzzie accuser, the man who had first spoken, the one who clearly represented the horde that surrounded us. I gave him another friendly smile. I was going all out for that Sheppard charm, you know the one, show hostile natives that you were friendly, that you meant them no harm. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I felt that my attempts at first contact was as successful as trying to communicate with an iratus bug to stop sucking the life out of you. It was also similar to hitting my fist at a brick wall and hurting myself in the process. I saw the Fuzzie scowling at us now, clearly doubting my earlier words to him. I cleared my throat slightly, not liking what I saw. "He gets a little _confused_... sometimes." I explained with a sheepish smile, gesturing towards Ronon.

Another disgruntled growl came from the big guy which I pointedly ignored a second time. I'm sure at this stage I wasn't getting any brownie points from our slug-squashing Satedan. After all, I was literally admitting the blame for something that he had done, and I _knew _he wasn't ecstatic about _that_. But I was the leader of this team, therefore the one responsible, so I continued regardless of Ronon's protests. "Look," I said, "Like I said _before_, it was me. But it was an accident, unintentional, you _do_ understand that, don't you? The slug sort of popped its head right under my foot, and before I could stop myself... well uh... you know the rest... it sorta when splat... Would saying 'sorry' help?"

I locked my gaze onto the stocky Fuzzie who was now glaring at us as if we had committed some terrible mortal atrocity. It didn't look like he bought the whole story of the accident, even though, ironically, it was actually the truth. Of course there _was _my little white lie about me confessing that I did it instead of Ronon. But sometimes I've got to do that John Sheppard thing... you know, take the blame for one of your team, it comes with the territory of being the team leader, and therefore the one responsible for your team's actions, accident or no. I looked at the Fuzzie before me. I still found it difficult to believe that these guys called themselves Fuzzies. Every time I heard or said the name I was reminded of little furry fuzz balls, like those Tribbles in the original Star Trek TV episode. But names can be deceiving, after all, look at how much trouble the Tribbles caused Captain Kirk and his crew on board Enterprise. Somehow, I felt sure that these Fuzzies were going to be just as much trouble for us, if not, worse, and sad to say I wasn't proven wrong. I just hoped that I would survive the day, be like Kirk, whom McKay always liked to call me, but in a different way, not charming beautiful alien women (hey, I wished it was as easy as that) but rather kicking the bad guys butts and living to fight another day.

Anyhow, the one whom I took for the Fuzzie leader, the one whom I had nicknamed 'Elmo', took another step forward, stopped in front of us to glare at me specifically perhaps because I had addressed them first. He gave me a look of disdain, a heavy scowl forming on his features before he turned to eye the glowering Ronon. But if they insisted on calling themselves Fuzzies, then in the John Sheppard's book of names, their leader got to have a furry bear name too. I knew that he wasn't interested in telling us his name, even after I had introduced mine and the rest of my team. Okay, so polite etiquette wasn't part of their social norm either, that much I had figured out already.

So Elmo it was, and the name actually suited the guy for he was wearing a heavily dyed red fur jacket over a bright purple tunic, but the jacket was exactly the same colour as Sesame Street's Elmo. As the brute continued to glare hostilely at us, I noticed that except for the colour of the red jacket, the similarities with the real Elmo ended there. In actual fact, Fuzzie Elmo looked more like a badly done up version of Grizzly Adams with his giant frame and his scruffy longish hair and beard; but a psycho Grizzly Adams on a 'fashion gone berserk' kind of day. Why? Do I hear you ask? Cos this guy had bad, and I mean _really_ bad taste in putting together colour coordinated clothing, not that I knew much about the fashion industry. After all, hey, I'm the guy who gets hassled about his hair; I still can't believe that even that sniveling, insidious Lucius had the nerve to mention my hair to me: such a pretentious, trouble-causing weasel whom I was trying hard to forget. The thought of everyone in Atlantis fawning over him was enough to make me want to puke. It was almost as bad as the thought of me fawning over Rodney and cleaning up his quarters for him. When the effects of that drug had worn off, I took my damn sweet revenge on one Dr Rodney McKay afterwards. But that's another tale, I'm currently telling you about this one, how I became target practice to a group of natives called Fuzzies. Damn, how I've come to hate that name.

But back to my original topic at hand, being in the US Air Force, you don't have much choice in what you wear because basically you wore dress uniforms, or BDUs, and they worked just fine for me. However when off duty, even I knew enough not to wear stark gaudy colours that consisted of a red fur jacket, bright purple tunic, neon lemon green coloured leather leggings and blue dyed boots. If those weren't bad enough, to top it off, the thick gold chain with various jagged teeth hanging from around his thick brutish neck certainly didn't compliment the rest of the Fuzzie's looks. I can now truly appreciate the term 'eyesore', cos Elmo there fitted the bill nicely. In fact, if I hadn't thought up of the name Elmo, I would have probably called the guy Ronald McDonald, cos the term 'clown' seemed appropriate. But then clowns scare the hell out of me; ever since I was a kid I hated them. No, if I had to face this guy, I'd rather call him Elmo rather than that of a clown.

But as McKay would point out to me, I digress and even though Elmo might dress like a clown, he certainly didn't act like one; or maybe he did, at least to me, for like I said before, clowns were scary. From his body language, I sensed that Elmo had in fact believed Ronon's words as his gaze flitted back to the Satedan for two heart beats and then back to me again. My stomach twisted in a knot and I feared for Ronon's life in what I saw in Elmo's eyes. I knew then, that I couldn't allow him to punish Ronon especially over an accident that really wasn't his fault. So, ignoring Ronon's disapproving gaze, I once again said that it was my fault, to which Ronon stubbornly growled back that it wasn't. Some time in the near future, I needed to sit the big guy down and explain to him about the necessity of keeping quiet especially when your commanding officer ordered you to. But as it was, I ignored Ronon and had a glare-down battle with Elmo instead. Rodney tells me that I can do a pretty good Ronon-imitation glare, which I can only take as a compliment.

I saw no point in Ronon being made a scape goat for something that wasn't his fault. I was blaming the damn stupid slug for its own demise, although in the ironic world that we lived it, I was the one admitting to the accident. But you never leave your people behind, that was my motto, and I wasn't about to change it. If I had let Ronon admit to squashing the slug, I had a feeling that I would have to leave Ronon behind whether I liked it or not. It was something that I couldn't do. Not again. Not after Ronon had practically risked his life a few weeks back to ensure that Teyla and I were set free after we were captured by those natives whom Ronon knew during his time as a runner. You know the rest, by the time I had returned to the planet with reinforcements, it was too late, the village had been destroyed and Ronon had been captured by the Wraith again. We were damned lucky to get him back alive from Sateda, but still, I shall never forget how I felt as Teyla and I headed for the Stargate without Ronon. We had left one of our own behind that day. And I swore to myself that I would never do it again.

I heard struggles sounding from behind me. Turning around, I saw that Ronon was being being held back by four warrior goons who must have seen the big guy make a threatening move. It didn't surprise me that it took that much men to restrain our friendly Satedan. When Ronon saw me looking at him, he gave me a death glare and said furiously through gritted teeth, "Sheppard! Tell them the truth! I did it! It wasn't you but me!" He reminded me of an angry dragon and I could almost imagine puffs of smoke emanating from his heated nostrils.

I gave Ronon an apologetic look and prayed that he would forgive me some day. "Sorry, Ronon, but I can't let you take the fall for this. Not this time." I turned back to meet Elmo's gaze. I think Elmo recognised that I was the leader, and therefore, like any true leader, I was accountable for my team's actions. He gave me a brief nod and a feral grin: I knew then that he would accept me to take Ronon's place for whatever punishment they decided to merit out.

But I had no intention of being a Fuzzie sacrifice, more so over the fact that they were called Fuzzies. I did not want my epitaph to read "Killed by a Fuzzie". No, that would not do, not even with my unique sense of Sheppard humour. After all, I valued my life just as much as the next guy in a flak jacket. Despite what others might think, I am not suicidal, there are always reasons for my actions, and I do not make sacrifices lightly, only when there is no other choice left open to me. If my actions could save the lives of those whom I cared about, then it was my duty as a soldier to do so. I would not falter from the path no matter how difficult it might be. So I tried to explain to Elmo, as politely and diplomatically as I could once again, that it was an accident, that we had no intention of harming or stepping on their sacred blue slug.

Teyla at this stage also kindly chipped in, explaining the situation in that calm, self-assured, diplomatic style of hers; I knew then that she was more skilled at it than I'll ever be. You see diplomacy isn't really my strong suit; flying, now that's another matter; but trade negotiations were best left in the expert hands of Teyla or Elizabeth. I freely admit it that I pretty much suck at it. After all, looked what happened when I first tried to cut a deal with the Genii. Even though I was grateful for Teyla's help, at the end of the day, it made no difference to the outcome, the Fuzzies wanted blood and no amount of rational explanation or convincing could change their minds from the matter.

However, McKay had even less tact than I on the diplomacy front, and who could blame him? Perhaps that was the reason why I had him on my team; if he didn't like you, he'd tell you straight in the face that he didn't like you. So far, he hadn't told me that, and despite his many faults (and believe me there are many), we've formed some kind of mutual friendship. Okay, I admit it, I respected and trusted the guy for his scientific genius, and I also enjoyed our acerbic moments of bantering. I can't believe I'm saying this, but while McKay can really get on your nerves sometimes, he also grows on you, and you soon get used to his over inflated ego and lovely sarcastic personality. Not to mention, he also saved my ass and the city of Atlantis on a number of occasions. You're not likely to easily forget stuff like that anytime soon. So yeah, we're friends, perhaps good friends, perhaps even best friends. But don't tell him that I said that, cos it might go to his head, and you all know what McKay's like when he gets a big head.

But that said, most of the time Rodney lives up to his reputation of being a genius. Notice how I used the word 'most' and not 'always'? Because like all of us, he's human and he's entitled to make a mistake or two. However, one thing I learned about Dr Rodney McKay, he doesn't do things by halves. When he succeeds, he succeeds big time, like saving the day and all our collective asses along with it. But when he stumbles from his 'I'm always right' pedestal, he plummets hard and falls with a big bang... literally. The Doranda incident really put a strain on our friendship. It took me a long time to trust him again, but ask me now and I can firmly say that I'll trust him with my life. In fact, since then, I already had on a number of occasions. After all, I'm still here, aren't I? So, when we were confronted by Elmo who was accusing us of killing their blasted blue slug on purpose, I knew that I could count on McKay to tell the damn Fuzzies straight out how he saw it. That it was all their fault in the first place; that they should have placed up signs to warn visitors about the slugs in the field; that they should have built an enclosure around the field; that if they were too dumb to build anything, they should have placed men near the field to inform outsiders about the slugs... He went on...

I must admit, I agreed whole heartedly with Rodney's reasoning and ranting then. If I could have cheered the guy on loudly without further offending Elmo and his armed horde, I would have gladly done so. As it was, I only managed to give the scientist an approving look and while he was still half-way speaking, I cut him off. I needed to do that before he made matters worse and the natives decided to punish him as well. "Thanks, Rodney, I think they got the message. But you might want to shut it now or you might get us all killed..." See, there's a thing between telling someone off, and insulting that person, and I was afraid that if I let McKay continue with his rant, he would reach that insulting bit. After all, in that last bit of Rodney's tirade, I had noticed he used the word 'dumb', I only hoped that the Fuzzies didn't. At my words, McKay looked up at me surprised, uttered the word "Oh" and kept silent after that. It left me regretting my harsh words to the guy, but I promised to make it up to him, that is, if I got out of my current predicament alive.

Ronon however reacted differently. Through out my entire exchange with Elmo, he still glared at us, occasionally growling out the words "I did it, not Sheppard." But this time, it wasn't to me that he spoke to but to Elmo. He knew now that I wasn't about to change my mind, that he needed to convince Elmo somehow. I prayed silently that he wouldn't succeed. I didn't know who he was angrier with—me for owning up for his mistake, or Elmo for threatening us with harm. I actually felt a tinge of pity for Dex. I knew how he felt and how he hated me for doing what I did. But if the choice came to putting his life on the line or mine, I would rather it be mine. Ronon Dex would just have to live with that.

On Sateda, in spite of what my gut was telling me to do, I had held back, I had not killed that damn Wraith that was beating Ronon to a pulp. Why? Because I had given my word as a friend to Ronon and he trusted me. If a soldier couldn't live by his word, then you were not a man but a liar who couldn't be trusted. But Ronon had also threatened to kill me if I intervened, not that I feared that part, for I was sure that the big guy wouldn't have carried out his threat (at least I hoped he wouldn't), but as Teyla had so eloquently reminded me, Ronon would have never forgiven me if I had shot that Wraith. I knew how important trust was between friends. This time however, I had made no such deal with Ronon. This time I had my way, and while I knew that he would be mad at me, I also knew that he would forgive me. However, looking at the rage in his eyes, I felt a tinge of nervousness, and I wasn't so sure anymore. So I did what any intelligent colonel would do—I did not look into his eyes.

Unfortunately for us, more accurately, mainly me, Elmo was not interested in any of our explanations. According to Fuzzie law (pun not intended despite the similar pronunciation), the transgression had been committed, and there was only one solution to it. Death, namely mine. I was sentenced without a trial, right there and then, standing under the shade of the forest trees next to the wide open field of the blue slugs. I heard my team protest loudly, Rodney and Ronon's voices almost drowning out Teyla's softer toned one. Demanding even pleading with Elmo to change his mind, perhaps we could provide them with another item of payment, some sort of trade, medical supplies, farming resources, whatever he wished for. I could have told them to save their breaths, for in meeting Elmo I knew his kind, and I knew instinctively that the man before me wanted my blood: there would be nothing that we could do that could change his mind. Way to go John, sometimes the Sheppard charm just rubs people off the wrong way. I never quite figured that one out yet.

But what I didn't expect was for all three members of my team to start protesting and volunteering to take my place instead. Even Rodney, scared, panicky Rodney. It touched me deeply, for never have I felt so close to Teyla, Ronon and Rodney as I did then; to know that they were willing to trade their lives for mine, as I would have gladly done for them. It was then that I truly came to realise how much of a family we had become. We had started out in the Pegasus galaxy as strangers, but over a short span of a few years (less so with Ronon), we somehow became a family. But it was not something that I could allow them to do—to trade their lives for mine. And I think they knew it too, for I read frustration, anger and despair in their faces. Anyway, it would defeat the purpose of why I had accepted the blame for Ronon in the first place. It was my right to do this, and I silenced them with a firm "_No._" I also told them that under no circumstances were they to do such a trade. I made the deal and I would have to accept the consequences of it. But that didn't mean that I wouldn't go down fighting. I wasn't ready to die, no way in hell, not anytime soon.

Elmo watched all our interaction in silence, I wondered what he thought of us then. He turned and gave me another feral grin, nodding towards his warriors to take me away. However, as they nudged me away, Rodney called out, stopping them with a question. "Wait! What are you going to do with him?" His anxious blue gaze drifted in my direction, locking onto my gaze for a heart beat, before moving on to Elmo. I have never seen him looking so worried as he did then. I saw horror and despair written in his eyes. While I knew that I would miss my stick fighting sessions with Teyla, running and hand to hand combat training with Ronon, I think I shall miss my banter sessions with Rodney the most. I looked calmly at the rest of my team..., my family... and I bid them goodbye with my eyes. I had no words for them, none was needed; they all knew what was in my heart. Yet, at the same time I tried to convey the message that I wasn't ready to give up hope yet. That if there was a way to get out of this mess, I would find it somehow.

"He will be set free on the Deathlands to be used as target practice for my warriors." I heard Elmo reply.

I was surprised by this statement, I had expected a quick death by execution with my hands tied behind my back or something similar. If I was to be set free somewhere else, then hunted down, being like some kind of Sheppard target, there was a possibility that I might be able to escape, or at least hold on long enough until Elizabeth sent reinforcements through the Stargate. This at least gave me a fighting chance. Better yet, perhaps the hunted could become the hunter; I knew that I was pretty good at survival training 101. If I could defeat the Genii when they invaded Atlantis, I should be able to handle this.

I turned back towards Elmo, locking my gaze onto the Fuzzie leader. If I were to forfeit my life, I had to be sure that my sacrifice would not be in vain, that the rest of my team would be safe. "And you will let the rest of my team go?" I asked the man.

Again another feral smile appeared, there was a gleeful look in Elmo's dark eyes as he studied me intensively. I think he knew then that I was a soldier, a fighter, that I would not go down easily. But in his eyes, I knew that I would not like the answer.

"When you are dead, your team will be released. Until then, they will follow us and watch your progress as my warriors hunt and track you down. You will be the hunted, the one whom we will use for target practice. But be warned, should you fight back and kill any of my warriors, I will claim that life for the life of one of your team, starting with that one." Elmo then pointed towards McKay, who instinctively blanched at his threatening words. I knew that Elmo had picked on Rodney because he was the one who had asked the question.

"Now, that's not playing very fair is it?" I replied as I cursed silently to myself. This left me in a catch twenty-two situation; my team would not be safe until I was dead. However, at least I still had one other option available to me: I had to stay alive long enough until a rescue team arrived. I looked at my watch noting that I had five hours before our next check in time. Five hours before reinforcements arrived. Okay, I could do this. Somehow, I had to find a way to evade getting myself killed for five hours. Little did I know then that it was going to be more easily said than done. Little did I know that before the time was up, I would be fighting for my life with an arrow in my chest.

-xo0ox-

TBC


	3. The ties that bind

**Sheppard target**

**by Mission Reporter**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The ties that bind**

**(Ronon's POV)**

Anger burnt hotly within me. Sheppard took the punishment that was meant for me! I could kill the man for his foolishness! I never asked it of him, the punishment was mine and mine alone to endure. He is a warrior, my commander, I knew that I had to obey him, but I could not accept this! He should not have done what he did. He should have let me take the punishment instead. After all, it was my boot that had flattened the blue slug; my foot that had squashed it until it was nothing more than a blue stain on the ground. It reminded me very much of Jamba snort that we often found in Sateda during my boyhood hunts. Yet, I was a runner, I knew the ways, I was better at it than he is, I stood a better chance at surviving this than he does. Sheppard was wrong, he should have never taken my place, and now he would have to pay the price.

I looked around to see the faces of Teyla and Rodney; they both looked devastated to hear Sheppard's fate. Me, I'm just plain mad, and given a chance I would kill everyone of these damn Fuzzies. Especially him. The one wearing red, the leader, the one who sentenced Sheppard to death by target practice, to be hunted down like some animal. Sheppard does not deserve such a fate. I know what it feels like, after all, I have been doing that for seven years—hunted by Wraith. I also experienced that recently again, in Sateda. If it were not for Sheppard and his team arriving to rescue me, I would be dead. I know that now. I owed Colonel Sheppard and Dr Beckett more than my life, I owed them a debt of gratitude that could not be repaid.

And now Sheppard has gone and done something stupid like this. When I get Sheppard back safely to Atlantis again, I shall kill him myself. Perhaps not kill, but seriously maim, or seriously threaten to main—somewhere where it hurts, somewhere that he would not likely forget. He must never take a punishment that was meant for me again. John Sheppard is my commander, my friend, my warrior brother, the man whom I respect above all else. Him, and Dr Beckett, these two I owe my life. Yet, what he has done I cannot accept, and I would do everything in my power to see that he survives.

These people from Earth, they are very different from all the others I've met. I do not fully understand them. They care about one another, even for strangers like me and Teyla. Not all of them, but some, like John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, and Carson Beckett, they are my friends... they are more than friends, they have in some unexpected way become my family. They are all that I have left.

I could still recall Teyla's words to me after I had been rescued from Sateda. I remembered her telling me what Sheppard had said to her after I had asked her why they had risked their lives to come back for me. I knew that if the Atlanteans wanted to leave me to my fate, they could have easily done so. Sheppard, I heard, had fought for me. He took a big risk to do what he did. I heard that Colonel Caldwell disapproved of my rescue, but Sheppard fought for me nonetheless. Sheppard especially has always made me feel welcomed, like one of them. And I have never thanked him for coming after me... to Sateda. I had thanked Dr Beckett that day, but not Sheppard. I figured he knew how I felt. After all, we were both warriors, we do not need words for that. I now truly know the depth of his belief that no one gets left behind.

I recalled with something akin to shame, how I had threatened to kill Sheppard that day if he killed the Wraith on Sateda. But that Wraith was mine, and I wanted to feel his life disappearing under my hands. In the end, it made no difference, for Dr Beckett destroyed it; and I also owed the Doc another debt; him and Sheppard too. But it felt good, looking into that Wraith's eyes and seeing his death written in there, and especially me telling him that it was so. I felt the sweet taste of vengeance that day. My only regret was that the Wraith didn't suffer more before his demise.

My fury fumes, hot like the lava on Mt Sandenos. _No!_ I will _not _let John Sheppard die on my account. He would not be left to face these cowards alone. Even if I had to fight all these warriors myself, kill every last one of them, wipe every smug smile off their faces, I would see to it that Sheppard was not left behind.

I tried to break free then, to attack, to force the one in red to take me instead. But I felt the four armed warriors who had gathered earlier to restrain me, hold my arms tightly behind my back. I struggled against their hold, glowered at my captors, the anger within me red hot deep, but they had me down tight. I might be strong, but I knew my limits and I knew that I couldn't escape from their hold, not one against four, those were uneven odds, even for me.

Like I said before, these people were cowards. They do not deserve to breathe the same air as Sheppard. If they harmed one hair on Sheppard's head, they were going to be dead. But I knew that even though they were cowards, they were also vicious warriors, that they were capable of killing Sheppard without so much of a bat of an eye. Yet, they do not fight openly or cleanly. To me, they were just like the Wraith. While they guarded us so closely, I would wait and bid my time. But I swore to myself, that the one in red was mine. If John Sheppard died, on my oath as a Satedan, I would kill the bastard myself and hang his innards for all to see.

-xo0ox-

**(Rodney's POV)**

Oh my God! I stood there gaping in shock, still unable to believe what Sheppard had done. He had taken Ronon's place to be target practice for these blood thirsty savages who don't deserve to see the light of day.

How could they be so upset over a slug, for crying out loud? Sure it was blue, and it could sing, but come on, it was still a squirmy wiggly freaky worm! A bird's snack, the lowest of the low, the scrub of the earth. Okay... maybe I went a little too far with that last description cos all geniuses know about the benefits of worms in the earth. But you get my drift. They're dime a dozen out there, we all saw as much, hundreds literally thousands of them, living out in that open field. So, yes, surely they couldn't cost the life of a man, could they? And it wasn't just any man's life. But Lt Colonel John Sheppard: the man with the natural, raw ability of using Ancient technology as if he was breathing air; the man with vast amounts of Ancient gene flowing through his freakin' self-sacrificing veins.

While I would have never admitted it in front of Sheppard, there have been times where I've felt the deep bite of envy especially when I saw how easily he used Ancient technology with minimal effort. And what do I get? ATA gene therapy received from mice! And they were only half as good compared to what Sheppard got. What wouldn't I give for his gene. Okay, can you blame the scientist? I was jealous of Sheppard's gene. There you have it, I said it out loud, so sue me. Yes jealous, the green eyed monster and all that went with it, over an alien gene. An itty-bitty minuscule gene. Yet in my mind it was something that allowed you to use Ancient technology and that was everything, especially out here in the Pegasus galaxy.

I suppose I should be grateful that Beckett's gene therapy actually worked on me, but human beings are never satisfied, we always want more. And when we get what we want, we want even more still. Okay, I admit it. Sometimes I could be egoistical, a little rude and maybe a little self-absorbed, perhaps even a tact greedy on wanting the credit for all scientific discoveries. But I'm a genius, and you'd never find another brain smarter than mine in the Pegasus galaxy, so I'm entitled to some personal quirks, so give the brilliant scientist a break, why don't you?

Which was why I found it so difficult to contemplate the fact that Sheppard was about to be killed over a lowly earth slug. Over something so minute. And to rub salt to the wound, it wasn't even for something that Sheppard had done... I mean, how screwed up was that? Damn Sheppard, and all his self-sacrificing Kirk like tendencies! Yeah, sure, he might be our team leader, but it still didn't give him the right to throw his life away, even for Ronon. He might be a mathematical genius at Mensa, but he still was a moronic Lt Colonel in my book. In fact, I wondered how he survived this long to make it to Lt Colonel in the first place.

I remembered hearing rumours during the early days in Atlantis, and while I was never part of the gossip column, even I heard tales about Sheppard disobeying orders and not respecting the chain of command. Hmm, that latter bit? I could believe, for I could see Sheppard doing what he needed to do especially if he thought he was doing the right thing. It was one of the things that made me respect the man. Despite his military training and background, he was unconventional, his people meant more to him than just orders. We felt safe being under Sheppard's command, for we knew that he cared enough for us not to throw our lives away on some wimp. Nor would he leave us behind; no matter what the cost. Which was why, despite my anger, frustration and fear, I think I understand why Sheppard did what he did, but that still didn't stop me from being mad at him.

But one thing that I cannot bear was the thought of loosing probably one of the closest friends I had in the Pegasus galaxy. Being a genius scientist, I didn't have much time for friends, either to make friends or to cultivate friends—whatever you call that thing where people got together socially to spend in friendly chit-chat. Not especially when there were better things to do with my time. But somehow Sheppard, with his easy confidence, laid back attitude and snarky personality had gotten through my numerous barriers that I had built up over time, and offered me something that I least expected to find when I accepted this assignment in the Pegasus galaxy - the gift of friendship.

I would insult him and he would insult me right back. Not only that, but he would find the time to bug the genius scientist and drag me out for movie night, popcorn and social gatherings with the rest of the team. This, he did, even when I told him that I didn't want to go and mix with all the little people. Pretty soon, I discovered that I liked being included in these social gatherings, even if all I did sometimes was to insult them or tell them how stupid I thought a movie was especially when there was a scientific explanation in the show that didn't add up to my realm of scientific brilliance. Regardless, to my utter surprise, I discovered that my team didn't seem to mind my caustic ways. And for the first time in my life, I didn't feel so lonely any more and I began to look forward to movie nights and the time we spent socializing at the mess hall—the idle talk, the chit-chat, the friendly banter, all that normal socializing stuff that human beings tended to gravitate to. And I blame it all on one damn cocky flyboy pilot by the name of Sheppard.

I guessed never realised how much I came to value Sheppard's trust and friendship until I almost lost it in the Artucus project. Only then did I realise how much Sheppard's trust meant to me and by then it was too late: I saw the look of disappointment in his eyes, I saw the loss of trust, and it hurt me..., to my ultimate surprise, badly. All my life I thought I needed no friends, that cultivating friendship was a useless commodity, a waste of time, and only after I had lost it, did I realise the value of it. The saying that you don't know what you value until after you've lost it, is very true. But needless to say, I took steps to regain back Sheppard's trust and friendship, and it was worth every effort. I would like to think that we are friends again, maybe even best friends, I'm not certain about that yet. After all, we are guys, we don't speak about such stuff.

But after being part of Sheppard's team for almost two and a half year's now, I could see that Sheppard had a penchant for trouble. Because at the rate he was going, he wasn't going to make it to see ripe old age, what with his encounters with the bag guys in the Pegasus galaxy. And I was angry, because I wanted him to see old age, and by old age, I meant the natural old age, _not_ having his life sucked out by a Wraith. Also from the way that I've seen Ronon react, the big guy was _not _pleased about Sheppard's trade at all. In fact, he looked totally pissed with Sheppard. Can't say that I blamed the fellow, freakin' hell, I wasn't too happy about the trade either.

I was ashamed to admit it, but deep down, if I had to loose someone, I preferred it to be Ronon than Sheppard. Sure I respected and even cared about the Caveman, but I knew Sheppard longer. We spoke, we bantered, who was I going to pick on if not Sheppard? If I tried that on Ronon he'd probably bite my head off and eat me for lunch. Besides, we still needed Sheppard in our battle against the Wraith. He's our team leader, our friend, part of the Atlantis surrogate family of Teyla, Ronon and me... No, I take that back, I didn't want it to be Ronon either. Besides, I liked the Caveman, why would I call him that pet name anyway if not a term of endearment? Scary as he is sometimes, he's still a good guy, part of our surrogate family. I realised that I didn't want it to be anyone of us. There had to be another way out of this predicament without resulting in one of us dying, especially me. If any one of us died, it would be as if we lost a member of our family. No, no, no, we couldn't have that.

I could feel my heart rate accelerate, and I knew that if I didn't control the panic that was trying to rise from deep within me, I would soon start to hyperventilate. I tried to take calm deep breaths as I saw Sheppard having a glare down battle with that big Neanderthal dressed in that awful clown suit. Hmm, he was actually doing a pretty good job out of it and I wondered who would back off first. Conan over there was making a lot of growls, I turned to see that he was trying to break through the restraints of the four buffoons holding him. The Satedan was trying to get to Sheppard, he probably wanted to wipe off the smirk from that Neanderthal's face. Couldn't say I blamed him, in fact, I rooted for the big guy, hoping that he would be able to break free and save Sheppard somehow.

Rats! I had missed who had won the glare down battle, for now both men were looking at Ronon. I looked again at the stocky bearded man who faced us. Knowing Sheppard, he probably had a name picked out for Mr Fuzzie-Wuzzie over there. He usually did, like he did for those two Wraiths: Steve and Bob. I don't know what is it with Sheppard and his partiality for naming things: vessels, space ships, even scary life sucking creatures like Wraiths. Perhaps it's the perpetual kid in him, considering he's always bouncing around like a ball of energy, running with Ronon, stick fighting with Teyla, bugging and teasing the genius scientist... And he has the nerve to tell _me _that _I'm _like an out of control jet on codeine when ever I tried to explain to him about my numerous scientific discoveries. But that's Sheppard for you, sometimes he's like a little kid on a sugar high. Yet, in spite of this, there's another side of Sheppard, a serious side, a Sheppard who would do anything to protect those whom he cared about, like what he has always done for us, like what he was doing for Ronon now.

I turned back to look at the Fuzzies and thought to myself that I still couldn't believe that they were called Fuzzies. Jeez, what kind of name was that anyway? '_Oh, look I've got a fuzzie head. Oh, is that a fuzzie bear I see? Oh, what a nice little fuzzie drink! Is that fuzzie logic I hear?_ ' Okay, sure, the spelling was a bit different, but the pronunciation's the same, so what's the different I ask?

As they were about to lead Sheppard away to what I presume was to be is his execution, I had to call out, I had to ask. Despite not wanting to hear about it, I had to know what fate they had planned for my friend. Dammit! Sheppard is perhaps the closest friend I have in the Pegasus galaxy, and here we were standing like ninnies, unable to do anything to help him. Yet for a brief instant, I locked onto Sheppard's gaze, and I saw the eyes of a man who was saying goodbye to us, to me. But in them, I also saw no dull resignation of a man about to face his death, but one who was determined to fight, to live. I knew then that Sheppard was not ready to die, that he was not ready to give up on life, and on us; that he would go down fighting to his very last breath. It gave me courage to go ahead with my question, knowing that information was power; and any information we received, could perhaps be useful to Sheppard in some way. God, I surely hoped that I was correct.

-xo0ox-

**(Teyla's POV)**

I stared at Colonel Sheppard in shock. Once again he was doing what he had to do. While I was not so sure that I agreed with his methods, I understood why he was doing it. He did it in order to protect us, his team, and in this instance, he did it to protect Ronon. Yet, I feared for him. The men I saw before us were hardened men, warriors in their own right. I knew that they would not treat John gently.

If he was to become target practice to these warriors, Colonel Sheppard would have to use everything skill that he acquired in battle in order to survive this. I do not think he would be given a weapon, these people were not likely to play fair. My heart grew concerned at the thought that John would be left defenseless at the mercy of such men. The one in red had already stated that they wanted Colonel Sheppard dead. I very much feared for John's life. I suspect that he would be in grave peril when they took him to this Deathlands that they spoke about. I prayed to the Ancestors that they would guide his path, give him wisdom and strength for Sheppard to survive the challenge ahead of him. I also asked the Spirits of Ancestors for guidance, that we may find some way to help John out, anything that would save his life.

I saw him look at the time piece that he wore on his hand. He knew that he had to survive the hunt for five hours before help arrived from Atlantis. It was then that the thought occurred that perhaps Ronon might be more suited to this task than Sheppard. After all, the Satedan had spent seven years being hunted down by the Wraith. He knew the ways of the runner. He would be more apt at it than Sheppard. However, I knew that Colonel Sheppard would not agree to this; his actions and indeed words spoke for themselves.

I saw the look of determination in his face when he told us under no circumstances were we to trade our lives for his. Colonel Sheppard would do anything to protect us, his team. Once, not so long ago, he tried to mention to me how he felt about us, the team, that we were his 'family'. I realised now how true it is. As a team, we have grown close, caring about one another, almost like a family does. I do not know when and how the ties had formed, but formed they did, for now we are bound together more than comradeship, more than friendship. The care that we feel for one another are similar to those shared by members of our own families. And it was because of this, I knew that Ronon, Rodney and I would do everything in our power to try to save John from the fate that these people planned for him. I prayed to the Spirit of the Ancestors that we could.

-xo0ox-

TBC


	4. Target practice

**Sheppard target**

**by Mission Reporter**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Target practice**

**(Sheppard's POV)**

The Fuzzies certainly knew how to get down to business when they said that they were going to make me target practice. They wasted no time in the matter. However, to my indignation, something must have been lost in translation when these Fuzzies used the term 'target practice', or at least my interpretation of this statement.

As promised, they let me loose in the Deathlands, but before they did so, one of them decided to test out his fighting skills on me. He was a big, tall fella, almost as big as our guy Ronon over there. But needless to say, I managed to hold my own against the big fella. It was like David and Goliath, with me being David and the big Fuzzie warrior being Goliath. However, unlike David, I had no slingshot, nor did Goliath have any weapon in his hand, thank god for small mercies. It was going to be a good ol' fashioned fist fight.

The fight started quickly and we traded a couple of blows. Hands, fists and feet were all that we used. I even managed to get in a couple of good kicks at Goliath during the fight. He might be big, but in my definition, like Goliath, he was destined for a fall. Needless to say, despite me taking a couple of hard blows to the head that saw me seeing stars and a few painful knocks to my ribs that knocked the breath out of me, at the end, I managed to kick Goliath hard in the nuts that literally downed the poor fella in a matter of seconds. I shall always remember his bulging cross-eyed look and pursed fish lips on his suddenly pink face when I struck him where it hurt most.

I saw Teyla, Ronon and Rodney looking at me with pride in their faces that I had defeated ol' Goliath in less than five minutes. The Fuzzies you could say less were than impressed by my fighting prowess. I didn't care how I fought, regardless of what dirty tricks I used, it was my life on the line and as long as I didn't kill the guy, my team would be safe.

With their fun and games over, and not turning out the way they expected, the Fuzzies decided to continue with my punishment without delay, leaving me no opportunity whatsoever to concoct up any sort of escape plan.

I was bound hands and feet to a gigantic wooden wheel and set free to cartwheel down a gentle slope towards the center of Blue Slug Forest. The Deathlands had many names I was told, and Blue Slug Forest would be my first point of destination. It wasn't the most pleasant experience, I can tell you that. My lunch felt like it wanted to come up my throat and for a brief moment I was actually glad that I hadn't pigged out as much as Rodney had.

Whatever the case, I knew then that I didn't stand a fighting chance in hell at beating these Fuzzies, let alone last five hours until re-enforcements arrived. Barely five minutes of tumbling saw me arriving at a small clearing in the forest. Several Fuzzie warriors had skillfully guided the giant wheel down the slope towards a towering ancient redwood tree. The wheel came to rest beside that giant tree.

I was positioned upside down and moments later, a tiny Fuzzie of a warrior came forth to take his first putt at lil' ol' me all tied up like a neat little package attached to a wooden wheel ready for target practice. The warrior was barely a kid, probably 13 years old. In his hand, the kid held a bow and arrow that looked like it was unskillfully fashioned from a piece of driftwood. He prepared to take his shot when to my relief Elmo motioned him to wait.

"His friends shall bear witness to his demise for his transgressions."

Oh yippie, as if being a pin cushion to this Fuzzie kid wasn't bad enough. The last thing I needed was to have the rest of my team watch my demise at the hands of a Fuzzie kid. My day was turning out worse and worse. Where was Lady Luck when you needed her, I thought to myself.

The blood was now rushing to my head but I could still clearly make out the forms and hear the sounds of dismay from familiar voices. Telya, Ronon and Rodney were led into the circle of people under the giant redwood tree only to be forcefully restrained from coming any closer. The small boy of a warrior prepared to take his first shot. I cringed at the twang of the string on the bow from a pair of unskilled hands.

The arrow wobbled upwards, hit a branch of a nearby tree at an awkward angle and deflected back towards Ronon. The Satedan's quick reflects caused him to duck and the arrow hit who else but Elmo on the forehead right between his eyes. A second of stunned silence followed. It was a second of disbelief for the entire tribe, but it was a second long enough for Ronon to recognise an opportunity and he seized it.

Grabbing a spear from a stunned warrior, Dex elbowed him hard in the stomach before taking out another six more Fuzzie warriors in the process. But even the great Dex was no match for that one soft spot that he and I shared for Teyla was the next target. Elmo was only bruised by the stray arrow. Apparently the arrow head had dislodged itself on the branch that it hit, and only the arrow's stick had hit him on the forehead. Elmo had one of his warriors bind Rodney while he held a blade against Telya's neck. Ronon had no choice but to stop.

"This unfortunate turn of events bears ill-wind on our tribe," Elmo muttered in an overbearing voice of doom and gloom. "There will be no more target practice for today. We'll beat him up and then I shall take the shot myself."

"NOOO!!!!" Teyla screamed as she tried to break free from Elmo's powerful grip. But the leader of the tribe merely brushed her aside and into the arms of three of his aides who moved to bind her with Rodney.

Motioning to three of the largest men in the tribe, Elmo ordered them to unleash their muscled power onto one unwilling prisoner, namely me. Cold sweat rolled down the side of my cheek and began to flow into the roots of my hair. Being upside down did not help much and my head felt damp as perspiration trickled down the tips of my hair. A multitude of thoughts streaked across my mind like lightning across an open field, searching for that single oak tree hidden in the darkness.

I had to come up of a plan. Despite the odds, despite the lack of hope, despite it all, there _had _to be a way out of this! Being always the optimist, I wasn't prepared to give up. _Not yet! Not now! Think! John, Think! _I had to come up with a plan and I had to come up with one soon! _Come on John! This is one big mess you've got yourself into. You'd better think your way out of this now or you're going to get whumped. And whumped pretty bad at that!_

Did I just say the word 'whumped'? You betcha I did. That was a word I had learnt from one Dr Rodney McKay when he showed me a website of fan fiction writers who loved writing about how their favourite TV heroes got hurt, injured and sometimes left close to death. I was shaken to the core to read such stuff, and I was glad as hell that I wasn't one of these fictional TV characters as I wouldn't have liked to think what they would do to me. But regardless, the word stuck in my mind and so now, I found myself in the predicament where I was about to be seriously whumped.

The three Fuzzy warriors coming up to me didn't look like pretty boys and they sure as hell didn't look like kids bearing harmless wooden clubs either. These three warriors looked resolute and fierce, like they won't miss a blow. And miss a blow they did not. I was beaten up pretty badly. It only took half a dozen or so punches and the cold sweat trickling down the side of my neck had turn to a shade of red before the goon squad was called off.

This time, there was nothing left to keep my lunch in as a result of the hard blows to the stomach. Every part of me burned in agony as knuckles and hard wood had met against soft flesh. But I refused to admit defeat.

I was determined to find an escape route out from my predicament whatever the cost. It was a part of me as was my military training.

However, despite the gushing pain and lost lunch, I still kept a watchful eye on Elmo the Fuzzie leader. I saw him calmly roll up his red sleeve as an aide handed him his weapon. Then the moment of truth was at hand, and Elmo took his aim. I jerked my body hard towards the right, pushing all my weight to one side, hoping to turn the wooden wheel that I was tied to. To my joy, the giant wheel lurched an inch forward and away it took me, cartwheeling once again down the inclined path deeper into Blue Slug forest. But Elmo was no fool, at least not with a bow and arrow. He took aim and fired. I remembered the sharp pain that followed as the arrow found its mark, hitting me squarely in the chest.

-xoOox-

TBC


End file.
